The Flash
by I've Been a Labrat
Summary: Here's a joke: Hippie, Nerd, and Burly walk into the Maximoff house. They meet a grey-haired kid who proceeds to jab all their buttons as many times as he possibly can. Does the kid leave in a body bag?
1. Button Pushing

"I've been here all day," Peter said breezily, jiggling one foot as he sat, laid back in the chair while his brown eyes examined the three men. One was dorky-looking, glasses a little big for his face and wearing an orange jacket. Seriously, who wears _orange_? The second looked like a hippie, beard and long greasy hair. His clothes weren't loose, no tie-dye, but it was close enough. The last guy was big and burly, wearing a leather jacket-oh, finally, someone with some sort of _taste_-and his hair had a couple points in it. Weird.

"We're not cops, kid," Burly Man said.

He almost laughed. "Of course you're not cops. Cops don't drive a rental car."

They all gave him looks of confusion, at which he almost laughed again. "How did you-"

Not giving them a chance to answer, he shrugged, continuing in his speedy voice. Everything was fast for him or it made him crazy. His mother had come to peace with it by now, though he knew she still wished he'd slow down just a little, sometimes. Nah. He was born to go fast, might as well do what he was made for. "I checked your license and registration while you were walking through the door. You're from New York?"

Before they could say anything, he sped over to Hippie Guy and snatched his wallet from his pants pocket, opening it and flipping through its contents before he blinked. Whirling around, Hippie seemed startled and angry, which made Peter even happier. His greatest joy in life, besides going as fast as humanly-no, Peterly-possible, was pissing people off. It was just so _easy_ to do, particularly because all adults seemed to have a chip on their shoulder regarding teenagers, which made it so hilarious to push their buttons.

Which was why he'd dropped out of school. Too much time spent on boring paperwork and _socializing_ when he could be out doing things he actually wanted. Like swiping Ding Dongs from gas stations and television sets from the electronics stores and the police station really wouldn't miss a few guns, would they? Nah, totally not.

Picking out a wrinkled white business card, his eyes scanned the words. "What's this Xavier's School?"

He knew Hippie was reaching for him in a split second, and dropped both wallet and card on the ping pong table before zipping to sit in the chair again. "That's an old card," Hippie grumbled, grabbing his belongings and tucking them back in his jeans pocket.

"He's fascinating," Nerd told Hippie, grinning.

"He's a pain in the ass."

Well, that was one guy pissed off. Two to go.

Peter knew they were all looking at the various stolen piles around his basement domain. Then came the whole spiel about how they knew what he could do. He almost laughed at that too, looking at them with cockiness rolling off him in waves. Sure, go ahead and tell, guys. _Who's going to believe you that I can go faster than the speed of sound?_

He turned around to face them when they admitted to being just like him. Did that mean speed too? Because if so, they were really bumming him out, going so slow all the time. But then Hippie told Burly to show him something, and he looked closer.

Ew.

"It's cool, but it's disgusting," Peter replied, making a face.

Burly started to tell him something, about needing his help.

Oh… prison break? … Well, well, they had something of value after all.

He raced over to the ping pong arcade game, which had been a pain to steal, but oh so worth it. Jamming his fingers against the buttons and watching the pixels on the screen move at a painfully sluggish pace that always ensured he won, he smiled a little. "Prison break? That's illegal, you know."

Another look at the stashes of stuff around the room.

"What's in it for me?" Couldn't hurt to get the details up front. He could get himself out of anything, he knew, but still. Might as well ask.

"You," Hippie began, "you little kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon."

Holy shit.


	2. Let's Go for a Ride in the Car

_So I hadn't planned on this being more than a oneshot, but then I got the reviews from Paradox Predator and NotMarge, and I felt obligated to continue... alright, that's only a white lie. I wanted to continue writing Peter REALLY badly, because as much as I dreaded seeing him in the new movie, the moment I met the kid he had me laughing my arse off and I knew he'd be in plenty of my future fanfics._

_Paradox Predator: You're in luck, I AM writing more. Your review got me really excited and that made me feel like I had to continue. :)_

_NotMarge: I won't lie, since I've been reading your two Hank stories from recently, I damn near screamed aloud when I saw you reviewed my fic. Your own portrayal of Peter actually made me bite the bullet and finally sit down to write him._

* * *

"Say goodbye to your sister, at least," his mother sighed at him as he dashed over to the door.

Sighing, Peter raced to the little girl in a princess dress, plucking the wand from her small hand and bopping her lightly on the head with it. "Bye, Princess." The way he said it made her glare at him, yelling to their mother he was being mean, and Peter smirked as he ran out the door to the car.

The three men had introduced themselves as Charles, Hank, and Logan. He'd slung his arms around Charles and Logan's shoulders, the former sighing and trying to explain the details of the plan as Logan looked at him like he wanted to punch him. Hank had stood to the side, looking at Peter and smiling just a little.

It was freaking magical. Forget unicorns and fairies and princesses like his sister couldn't shut up about. This stuff, going off with three strange men in their car from New York, ready to break into the Pentagon, and jamming out to Pink Floyd was one of the best times he'd ever had.

Hippie- oops, Charles, snapped his fingers in front of Peter's face, and he whipped his headphones off. "I know the plan, we already went over it, and do you guys seriously not listen to anything good?" He cast a pointed look at the car's radio, and Charles gave him an exhausted and irritated look, Hank made a face, and Logan shrugged.

"I don't-" Charles started, groaning loudly when Peter went on to the next subject, chattering away a mile a minute.

"So how come you wear glasses? You nearsighted? Farsighted? One in one eye and one in the other? My grandma's like that, actually. I knocked her glasses off the table once and she had to shut one eye in order to read a book, and then shut the other eye to drive around. So why do you wear glasses? Oh, did you look at the explosion of an atom bomb without those goggles or sunglasses or whatever? Did you get hit in the eyes by lasers? I guess that would've blinded you but that still would be so cool-"

"I'm farsighted," Hank interrupted, though he didn't seem pissed off like Charles and Logan had been the entire car ride. Which sucked, because he was the missing puzzle piece. He actually seemed pretty happy to have Peter along, and kept looking at him from the front passenger seat, an ever-widening smile on his face. He noticed Hank didn't shave as closely as he probably could, there was noticeable stubble on his face. Which was weird, because geeks didn't really have stubble.

Peter jounced a leg up and down, ignoring the look Charles gave him as he looked out the window. "Hey, can we go see the Washington Monument? I've been everywhere else, but not that one. Well, except the Jefferson Memorial. I haven't been there. I've been to the Lincoln statue. Why did they make him sitting down?"

All three men-Logan looking in the rearview mirror-were utterly floored that he actually paused in his speech and expected an answer. Which, yeah, he did. Why did they make Lincoln sitting down? He never did get that.

"I believe because he was known for sitting in a chair," Charles answered, though that was the biggest BS answer Peter'd ever heard, but he didn't bother pursuing it.

"I've been to the Smithsonian stuff too. Air and Space is the best one because it's got all the cool gadgets and stuff. The one with all the American history is so boring. Why would I go see the stuff I already saw pictures of in textbooks at school? And why would I even want to be reminded I had to learn all that crap in school anyway?"

Before he could continue, Logan managed to get out, "Why do you wanna see the Washington Monument so bad?"

"I might as well, since we're already here. I mean, seriously, we're not even supposed to be at the Pentagon until 11:45, right, cause that's when the next tour begins and that's when they're about to go deliver the meals to the guy, right? It's 10 right now, we've got time to kill."

"But with traffic-"

"It's not even rush hour and even there's always a ton of tourists, they're all in taxis and I know how to tell time so it's not like I'll run us late or anything. We get there in the next few minutes, I take ten minutes to go see the place and do a few things, and then we leave and get to the Pentagon way before we need to, so we can just hang out in the parking lot and talk about drugs and stuff. Right, Poindexter?" Peter confirmed, looking at Hank.

Hank looked torn between agreeing with him and staying loyal to Charles. Seriously, was the guy his boss or something? Probably they were in the mafia. Logan seemed big enough to be in the mafia, plus he had those sick-and gross-bone claw things he could probably stab somebody with… how did he keep them from going back into his hand when he stabbed somebody, though?

"Uh… yes, actually, that gives us plenty of time," Hank finally said, turning back to face front before he could endure any glare from Charles. The glare was like acid on fire combined with ninja stars.

"Great," he said, grinning. "Make a left at the next light, Kitty," Peter instructed Logan, grin widening when Logan cast him a hateful glare in the mirror. He'd gotten so many glares today, it was glorious.


	3. Stop, Don't, Come Back

_Thank you to Dueling Southerner, Kechiko, Nerdy-self99, WIP-Writer in Progress, and 8839 for adding this story to your favorites! Also thank you to Paradox Predator, NotMarge, CrazyTenor42, and Brenda Shaffer-Shiring for leaving my reviews! I appreciate all the support I've received, and it gives me a lot of confidence when I keep hearing I'm writing Quicksilver spot on. As a side note, a cookie goes to everyone who gets the reference in this chapter's title. It's alright if you don't, it might be pretty obscure. I'll reveal it in my next update for those of you who are too lazy to guess. ;)  
_

* * *

Peter hopped out of the car the second they parked, though Charles had apparently anticipated it and called out for him to wait. Sighing and impatiently tapping his foot, Peter waited as the three men slowly, painfully climbed out of the car.

Charles gave Peter a hard look through his sunglasses. "Now, you can feel free to run around _looking_," he emphasized, "at the monuments. However, you are not going to pull any pranks or go _anywhere_ else outside this area. Yes?"

"Sure, whatever, can I go? We're burning daylight here and even _I_ can't make up all the time lost if you keep me like this, man. So seriously, can I go? Let's go, hurry up, let's go. Let's go, man, come on." He bolted away as soon as Charles began to open his mouth, smirking at the expression he imagined on the guy's face as he left him in the dust. He zipped along the sidewalk, tearing across the grass and to the nearest convenient store. Where he knew for a _fact_ they sold several hundred spray cans.

Ducking into the store, he raced down the aisles before the bell over the door even went off, grabbing a few paper grocery bags and then tucking about thirty cans of spray paint into the bags. Red, blue, purple, green, yellow, black, white, orange, and- aha, pink. Running past the counter and out the door again, he wished spray paint cans weren't so obnoxious to carry. Oh well. It'd be hilariously worth it.

* * *

"Peter!" Hank called, ears picking up Charles calling Peter's name a few yards away. He looked around, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the people walking among the monuments. They never should have let the kid out. Sure, Hank marvelled at how much fun Peter had with his mutation, but there were degrees of having fun and degrees of his appreciation. Both had crossed the line and gone into "too much" and "none" territory on their respective scales.

"Peter! Here, boy!" Logan shouted, whistling as one would do if calling a dog.

Hank met the man's eyes across the grounds and gave him a funny look, a mix of "you know that's not a bad idea" and "what are you even doing." Logan responded with a look as if to say "seriously, why aren't you doing this?" Which, Hank had to admit, was a valid point. Mulling it over, he sighed and cleared his throat, preparing himself to copy Logan, when his ears picked up the sound of… What was that? Spraying water? No, no. Stretching his hearing as far as it could go, reluctantly thanking Beast for helping him, he turned toward the side and started making his way through people. He could sense Logan motioning for Charles to follow, and they crept forward, dreading what they would find. Because, without a doubt, they knew it was the damn Maximoff kid.

Of course it was. Hank's heart sank as he watched graffiti magically appear on the base of the Washington monument the concrete around it, Peter moving far too quickly for anyone to see him, though it was garnering the attention of security now as innocent passerby pointed, mouths open wide as they stared in shock at the defacement of the national monument.

Logan stopped on Hank's right, Charles on his left, and the shorter man ripped off his sunglasses, mouth open in bafflement at the sight. "Uh… what…"

Before he could say anything else, a wind whipped up behind them, though nowhere else, and they turned as one to face Peter, who looked at them nonchalantly. "Can we go? Seriously, this place sucks, and I'm so bored. I don't know why I wanted to come here in the first place, it was such a waste of time. Let's go, man, come on. Back to the car so we can go get the guy. Let's go get the guy, come on, come on, hurry up."

Hank was torn between tiredly rubbing his forehead and doubling over laughing at the absurdity of his life. Not what he'd been expecting when growing up in Dundee.


	4. Pot, Weed, Grass, Whatever

_A huge thank you to NotMarge, Paradox Predator, and TheAlabasterPhoenyx! You're all so nice to leave me reviews! Also thank you to everyone who has favorited/followed this fic so far. :)_

_Paradox Predator: You certainly called it. I figured you'd know it because if the kid goes around stealing stuff all the time, surely he'd be into graffiti, hehe._

_NotMarge: I couldn't resist having Logan whistling for Peter like a dog. I can just picture him standing near the Washington Monument, hands on his hips as he looks around, sniffing for Peter, and whistles for him, calling "here, boy!"_

_TheAlabasterPhoenyx: I'm so thrilled I can not only make you and so many other people happy with Peter's portrayal, but inspire people for their own fics as well! Thank you!_

_As a final note, I did promise I'd explain last chapter's title of "Stop, Don't, Come Back." It's a line from one of my favorite movies, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which was released in 1971 with Jean Wilder as Wonka. He says it sarcastically when one of the idiot kids runs off and does something they were told not to (I believe Mike Teevee), and I thought it fit the mood of Charles, Logan, and Hank trying to keep a leash on Peter but being too exhausted to really put effort into it._

* * *

"You guys are so serious all the time, geez. All I did was paint a little. Shouldn't creativity be encouraged? Artistic ability and all that? It looked really cool, you gotta admit. Sure it isn't my greatest work, and I'm not Picasso or whatever, but it looked pretty awesome. Come on, you gotta admit it. Come onnnn."

Charles looked ready to snap and lash out, hitting Peter in the face, but he was restrained by his the shreds of his own will and a seatbelt. Plus, it seemed like too much effort to turn around and reach to the backseat to slap Peter across the face, when he could just sit shotgun and brood. Of course, the thought of having to explain a bruise on the boy's face when he was returned to his mother never crossed Charles's mind. He wasn't the most responsible adult anymore.

Hank, meanwhile, was nodding along to Peter's words and looking nervously out the window, just waiting for cops to appear out of the lanes of traffic to pull them over. "Uh, yeah, it was um…" He coughed. "Nice work."

Logan's grip on the steering wheel tightened, brow furrowing as his frown deepened. It was one thing to stick it to the man, buck the system and all. It was another to deface a national monument and then force your companions to run like hell before the cops started questioning people. Canadian Logan may have been, but it was still aggravating to be around Peter. He wasn't that bad when he'd known the kid as an adult. But as a teenager? He was a holy terror.

"So we've got, what, twenty minutes until we gotta go inside and get the guy?" Peter asked as they parked in the lot in front of the Pentagon. "What should we talk about? Oh, you guys do any drugs? I haven't, 'cause my mom said she'll kill me, and that's the only time I'll probably listen to her, but yeah. I mean, who _knows_ what could happen if I did cocaine or something? I'd probably be able to go even faster, right? That'd be so freakin' cool! Maybe even fast for me, you know? Like, you know, military jet-fast! I could probably run from here to the grand canyon and back without breaking a sweat, and do it in a couple minutes! Oh, man, that'd be so sweet-"

"I've done marijuana," Hank mumbled, to which Peter replied by laughing, holding his sides and busting up.

"You? Mister Nerdy Guy? You did pot? Seriously? No way! No way, man! You're too big of a geek! There's no way you did pot!"

"My friend was into it when I met him," Hank replied. "And he convinced myself and another friend to try it."

Peter laughed again. "Your friend still got a stash somewhere? I bet I could do pot without my mom killing me. After all, doesn't it slow you down or something? Totally slows you down, really slow. Might not make _me_ go slow, but probably just normal speed. Probably would take me five minutes just to go upstairs and get a ding dong. Geez, that'd suck. But it'd be fun to try pot. So does your friend still have any? At all? Does he at least have a guy?"

He stopped then, because Charles and Hank both had a look on their faces. It wasn't… a good look. It wasn't a pissed off look. It wasn't a moody look. It wasn't something he'd really seen on them in the time he'd known them. It was… sad, Peter thought. Really freakin' depressed. It was bumming him out just looking at them.

"What'd I say?"

Hank took his time about it, taking deep breaths and looking at everything but Peter. He wasn't sure what he'd said to make the guys upset, but it must've been pretty bad. "He um… he's no longer with us."

Ohhhh. That was what he'd said. Oops. Well, wasn't the first time he'd asked about somebody who'd kicked the bucket. He'd gotten good at just rolling on past it, instead of having that stupid awkward silence or whatever.

"Oh, well, sorry to hear that. Don't suppose he left any pot behind in his will or something? Did that other friend of yours ever get a guy for pot? Did he? 'Cause if he did, I want that friend's number so I can get the number of his pot guy."

Hank looked startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Sorry, Alex never became addicted." And, because after all the years of enabling Charles's addictions, he'd gotten good at being a bad influence. So he then informed Peter he could grow it in his windowsill, if he was that desperate to try it. He just needed to be careful about cops coming to his house. Peter gave him a grin and a thumbs up, telling him he was a pretty rad guy.

Not the worst named he'd been called, certainly. Oh, well. It was better Peter tried that one drug while he was at home for his mother to yell at and ground him for it, rather than being on the street when he tried it. Good-Guy, Bad-Influence Hank McCoy looked out for kids. And… adults who wallowed in their sorrows and body odor and bad hair, apparently. Ah, his life. In the words of the wise sage Charlie Brown, "good grief."


	5. Whiiip-laaaashh

_Thank you to RedIsNotAColour and souleater953 for adding this story to your favorites!_

_TheAlabasterPhoenyx: Oh, I know, I hated that. Especially viewing the airplane scene before the movie was released, and tearing up when I heard Erik say "Banshee." And thank you very much! I didn't think it sounded like him at all to get respectful and silent like characters usually do in fanfics. Sounded better for him to just shrug and steamroll on to the next topic. I'm enormously flattered by your compliments, you're so sweet. :) Believe it or not, Peter's actually one of the hardest characters I've written so far, right up there with Charles and Erik. Thanks for appreciating the tiny mention of older Quicksilver! Now I want to write Logan meeting Peter for the first time in the original future._

_NotMarge: Hehe, I thought at least one other person besides me would find it amusing that Logan ended up sniffing for Peter. Ah, feral mutants. So much fun. HA. I've always loved Gene Wilder. Charles could probably be Willy Wonka if he was slightly less drunk and grumpy. Charles was grumpy cat before it was cool. And YES, Hank did pot! He was curious, alright? For science! Remember, the difference between screwing around and science is whether you use the scientific method and if you write stuff down._

_brigid1318: Well, hello, there! I've really enjoyed reading the feedback you've given me on everything! Thank you, dear! I'm so happy I can make you and everyone else laugh as much as I have!_

_Also, as a final note, I'll have you all know my playlist for this chapter consisted of "Play That Funky Music" and "Springing Erik," the latter which is from the DOFP soundtrack. Best $10 I ever spent._

* * *

Hank went inside first, grumbling the whole way about his stupid hat and fanny pack. But he went with the little remote that would alter the broadcasting to the security feed, which would let Charles and Logan into the depths of the Pentagon with no problem. Peter, of course, could get in and out before the cameras even thought about picking up a slight blur-glitch of his movement, but unfortunately the others couldn't move fast like he could. Which was lame, but whatever. They were at least funny guys to be around.

He veered off from Charles and Logan, though he could tell they were reluctant after his little display at the Washington Monument. Hahaha. If only they knew he actually considered this to be serious business. Peter rubbed his hands together as he rushed through the kitchen and just inside the elevator, goggles already on. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed nonchalantly as he waited.

Come on, man, come on, hurry up.

AHA! Peter grinned at the security guard when the door shut, unhooking the first roll of duct tape from his belt and whipping the food tray from the guard's grip, taking care to make his laughter quiet as he set the tray on the floor before the guy blinked. Stripping off one silver piece of glorious tape, he strapped it on the guard's mouth, knocking his cap off for fun and ripping off the clothes in an instant.

Changing clothes without the guy looking wasn't a problem, since it only took about a second. Putting the cap on over his silver hair, he picked up the tray, and gulped when he saw the long line of guards down the hallway. Ah, hell.

_Man, this is serious stuff. No wonder they were all so freaked out about the plan. I get it now, I really do. Too bad Hippie can't hear my thoughts like he's supposed to be able to. HEY, XAVIER, I GET IT NOW. I'M JUST A LITTLE FREAKED OUT, OKAY, MAN?_

He moaned internally. _Mom's gonna kill me if she ever finds out I broke somebody out of federal custody in the Pentagon._

It took all his restraint not to whine aloud when he realized what that meant. _Awwww, no souvenirs…_

_Well, Peter, buddy, better remember everything about this place, 'cause I doubt you're getting back in here anytime soon._

He made it through to the revolving door, stepping inside with his eyes still wide. Geez, the government sure knew how to build a creepy place. He walked over to the… seriously? A glass pentagon inside a big pentagon? Oh, man, this was just great. He quickly scribbled out a note and tucked it inside the tray, sliding it down the narrow chute. It landed near the sleeping guy-he was tall, brown hair, pale skin, grey uniform-and he apparently wasn't sleeping, because he looked up and met Peter's eyes. He flashed the guy a smile, receiving only a strange look in return as the guy stood up and looked up.

_Alright, you can do this, Peter._ He placed his hands on the glass, wriggling around like ants were crawling all over him, and let that energy flow faster, like he was running without moving. _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, you can do this._ It flowed faster, faster, through his hands flat on the glass and making it vibrate, rattling loudly. _Come onnnnn…_

_Holy shit._

The glass shattered, tiny shards falling down into the cell as the guy put his hands over his face to keep it from cutting him. When the glass finished falling, he jumped up. Peter slipped back into the shadows, watching the guy nervously. _Man, this guy looks like bad news even from here. I hope he doesn't have a shank… no, no, a shiv. You use a shiv… to shank people. Yeah, yeah, that's it. He looks like he'd cut me for looking at him wrong. Yeesh._

But he had a job to do, and besides, he could run away from the guy if he had to. Bracing himself in case he did get shanked-or his neck snapped-he zoomed up to the guy.

"In about a minute those doors are going to open, and twenty guards will be here to shoot us."

_No they won't._

He grabbed the guy's neck, figuring if he got whiplash that Charles would be… even grouchier than normal. If he lived in a trash can, Peter swore he could be Oscar the Grouch like on Sesame Street… he had to admit, his sister didn't have totally terrible taste in shows.

"What are you doing?" The guy muttered.

"Holding your neck so you don't get whiplash," he answered.

"... What?"

Peter sighed to himself, rolling his eyes and leaning into the guy's ear. "_Whiiiiip-laaaaaashhhh_," he enunciated patronizingly, uncaring if the guy got offended. _Listen if you wanna hear, man._

The door opened, startling Peter with the light, but he just smiled breathlessly, adrenaline coursing through his system, and grabbed the guy tightly as he darted through the open spaces between the guards. Weaving through them like nothing as they stood still in his natural vision, Peter let loose one laugh as he raced into the elevator, safely ensconced once the doors closed.

The guy, however, didn't seem to find any amusement, and stumbled, leaning against the wall and blinking. His face looked as though he wanted to be sick, and Peter almost laughed if he wasn't still afraid the guy might try to kill him. "Don't worry, it'll pass. Happens to everyone," he reassured good naturedly, changing back into his clothes and glad to be rid of that stuffy uniform. Ah, bless you, Pink Floyd. And his goggles. Oh, he'd missed his goggles.

_Daddy's back_. Peter patted the goggles on his head fondly. _Yeah, missed you too._

"So," he started, hoping his attempt at making conversation wouldn't be the end of him. _If this guy killed me, Mom might find a way to bring me back to life so she could kill me again for not being safe. Rough._ "They told me you control metal."

"They?" The guy asked, straightening a little as the motion sickness began to pass.

Did the guy not know who was rescuing him? Huh. Probably some issues there… _After all, the guy _is _in prison. Definitely some issues there. I don't really wanna know, though. Too much information._

Without clarifying, since he _really_ didn't want to get into that whole thing that was probably a hairier mess than a hippie commune visiting a barber-Peter snickered to himself at the thought, it'd be hysterical to see-he breezed on to the next thing, recalling what his mom had told him awhile back.

"You know… my mom once knew a guy who could do that," he informed the man, finding it interesting how there was another guy who could move metal just like his mom had known. _If only I could ask my mom about it without her beating me over the head… wait a sec… _Peter blinked. _What if it's the same _guy_? Dude, that'd be so trippy._

Before anything else could be said-unfortunately, because now Peter had about a thousand and one questions for this guy-the elevator stopped on the right floor, and the doors opened. He smiled casually at Charles, who was standing in the opening to the raining kitchen, and stuck in his hands in his pockets. However, he did _not_ expect Charles to pull back his fist and land a really vicious right hook to the guy's jaw. He backed up against the wall, staring as Charles crashed into the inside wall of the elevator, the guy falling to the floor after his head snapped back. Charles was breathing hard, and even Peter could feel the absolute frothing-at-the-mouth _rage_ coming off him as he glared down at the guy they'd rescued.

_So much for trying to make sure the guy didn't get whiplash._


	6. Time in a Bottle

_Thank you to RedIsNotAColour, brigid1318, TheAlabasterPhoenyx, MinistryOfMagic13, NotMarge for reviewing. And a special shoutout to Finvarra Faerie for reviewing every chapter! __Also thank you to Dame-Of-The-Living-Dead, Nicely Nicely's little sister, and LadyoftheUnderground for favoriting this story!_

_RedIsNotAColour: You'll be happy to know the story of Hank, Alex, and Sean doing pot is now in the works, thanks to you. :)_

_brigid1318: Seriously, Charles, you made all Peter's hardwork moot! Thank you very much! It's a hard balance to strike between just rewriting the scenes, and writing the scenes but adding your own flavor to them. It's really wonderful to hear I've done my job._

_TheAlabasterPhoenyx: Awww, sweetie, you're too kind! Thank you! :) I try to let my mind go a million miles when I write Peter, because that's how I get it to come out sounding hyperactive. As I told brigid, I love hearing that I'm accomplishing what I set out to! Also it's relieving to hear I'm not the only one already dying for the DVD, haha._

_Alright, guys, next to last chapter, because I've got a short epilogue written for this._

* * *

Peter hardly paid attention to Charles and the guy's conversation, instead choosing to check the duct tape fastening the security guard to the wall. It was fine, and unfortunately Charles and the guy were still talking. _Ugh, dudes, hurry up. What could you possibly have to talk about that can't wait until we're _out _of here? Geez, I hate how everyone is so slow. Come onnnnn, guyssss._

He got his wish when security guards suddenly burst into the kitchen, pointing guns at the four of them. He stared at the guards, sizing them up just as they were doing to him, and figured they'd probably get a kick out of being taken out by a kid. Then Peter sighed, because he realized they'd give credit to the three adults instead, which really freakin' sucked. Ugh. He didn't want to be an adult for anything other than getting credit for stuff he did.

"I can't," Charles said, and Peter looked back to them. They must've finally finished their conversation. Took 'em long enough. Before he could figure out what had been said while he was tuning them out, metal began rattling violently, throwing things into the air.

_Aw, hell. Time to go, before this prison guy does something stupi-_

Peter jolted as the guns went off, Charles's shout of "no!" fading into the background as Peter kicked into overdrive. Sound always went slower, and the gunshot noises faded too as Peter pulled down his beloved goggles over his eyes. Headphones over his ears as he hit play on his Walkman, off he went, running along the wall just for the hell of it because this wouldn't take any time at all, and he might as well.

Oh, what was that? Orange stuff… soup? He reached out an index finger, running it through the goo and tasting it. Mmm, definitely soup, and definitely good stuff. Huh. _Guess government guys really can cook._

Racing forward during that taste test, he arrived at the first guard and stuck out a finger again, poking him in the cheek and laughing as the guard's cheek rippled slowly from the impact. On to the others.

Crossing an arm each on two guards, giving another a wedgie because why not, okay, guess I should go and get the bullets out of the way before it hits Charles and prison guy and Logan.

Peter zoomed back to his companions, glancing down and noticing the bone claws coming out of Logan's hand as defense.

_Again, cool, but soooo disgusting, man._

He stood in front of Charles and prison guy, taking the time to look them over closer. Prison guy wasn't actually that tall or muscular, but damn, he still looked dangerous even though to Peter, he was standing perfectly still. Charles… Charles actually looked less like a hippie now. Had something to do with how he'd combed his hair back and the suit.

Eh, at least he cleaned up well. Logan's jacket was still the best, though. Charles and Hank lacked a lot of fashion sense, honestly.

Nudging the bullets out of the way with his fingers, grabbing one and moving it to fire just between prison guy and Charles, he glanced back at Charles's face, squinting. He always liked looking at people's eyes when he went this fast. Could tell people's intentions way easier that way. Charles looked like he wanted to deck prison guy for the second time in five minutes, and there was something else…

Huh. Well, he couldn't blame Charles. Prison guy _was_ fear-inducing. Enough so that Peter probably would've wet himself if he couldn't run as fast as he could. But he _could_ go super hugely fast, so prison guy wasn't near as freaky as he could be.

Peter shrugged and ran back to one of the guards with a hat, snagging it because he'd come to the conclusion that, were his mom to try and search his room, he could easily move it before she found it. Seriously, it wasn't that hard. What was he scared of? One souvenir, that was all he'd get.

… Okay, maybe two. But the badge was for his sister, really, honest! Totally for his sister! She'd probably hate all the gift shop souvenirs anyway, so he might as well get her something _really_ cool that wasn't a replica badge or any of that crap. He tucked the golden metal in his jacket pocket, putting the Pentagon Security cap on his head and standing off to the side. Now to watch the show. _If only I had some popcorn._

It was glorious. The guards all fell to the tile floor, and the echoes of fists hitting faces rang around the kitchen. Peter was inwardly cackling, but he maintained a nonchalant exterior because he wanted to look badass and show off for these guys who couldn't do anything except unsheath gross claws, yell a comical slow motion "noooooo," and throw a few metal trays in the air. Whereas Peter Maximoff, the sixteen year old kid, had singlehandedly taken out every guard in the room and hadn't had to make a mess doing it.

Plus he'd gotten two souvenirs and a taste test of soup. As far as he was concerned, Logan, prison guy, and Charles were all losers. With a capital "L" to the forehead.

The three men stared around at the unconscious guards, the alarm still blaring rudely and the ceiling sprinklers still spraying water everywhere. Finally, they began to move, after what seemed like a freakin' _eternity_, and Logan clasped Peter on the shoulder as he passed. "Thanks, kid."

_You're welcome, kitty._


	7. Story's Over, You Dudes Can Go Home Now

_An enormous thank you is in order for every person who favorited, followed, and reviewed this fic! It's been a wonderful, high speed ride with Quicksilver. I'll definitely be writing more of him in the future, no worries. Like all good things, however, this story must come to an end. Picture Peter doing like Ferris Bueller and walking up to the screen, telling you to go home, the story's over._

* * *

"Thank you very much for your help, Peter," Charles said to him outside in the sunny airfield, actually thanking him sincerely. He'd spent such a short time with Charles, but even he could tell the guy was sincere about it.

It gave him an ego boost he didn't need, but he took anyway.

"Take the car back slowly, alright?"

Peter saluted Hank and Charles. "Hey, by the way," he interrupted, as Charles began to turn away. The man faced him again, his stance questioning. "I checked you flight map. Why're you going to Paris?"

Charles apparently didn't feel like answering, as he simply turned away again and started up the plane's steps.

_Fine, don't answer me. Yeesh, Oscar the Grouch._

Hank gave Peter an apologetic look. "Hey, uh, Peter," Hank started, following him around the car to lean down and talk to Peter as he got into the car.

"What is it, geek? Got something on your mind? Penny for your thoughts? Or do you charge dimes? Maybe those dollar coins? My sister has a whole collection of those and I keep telling her she can use those to _buy_ stuff but she yells at me." He rolled his eyes. "Weird kid. I'd steal them from her if she weren't my sister. Even _I _think it'd be a dick move to steal stuff from my little sister-"

Hank cleared his throat, and Peter grinned at him. "I couldn't help but notice, um…" He coughed nervously, eyes darting to the plane, as though he expected somebody to come after him any moment. "You and Erik… look…" Hank waved his hands in the air in front of him, trying to come up with the right words. "Similar," he finished lamely, crossing his arms.

"You know what?" Hank started again, shaking his head. "Forget I said anything, my mind's been preoccupied, I was just seeing things. Maybe it's the way you both like to push people's buttons."

Peter flashed Hank an even wider grin. "'Button-pusher' is my middle name."

Hank chuckled a little. "I can believe that. Take care of yourself, Peter."

"Will do, Nerd Extraordinaire." Then he put the car in drive, putting his foot on the gas and taking off across the asphalt, glancing at Hank in the rearview mirror. That orange jacket would make him stick out in pitch blackness. Ugh.


End file.
